


nothing safe is worth the drive (and i will follow you home)

by countthestars



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, so there's that, yeah this is another one of those post catsw h/c fics BUT WITH A DOG
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-13 09:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2145195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countthestars/pseuds/countthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve comes up with the brilliant idea to adopt a dog. Everyone but Bucky regrets it immediately.</p>
            </blockquote>





	nothing safe is worth the drive (and i will follow you home)

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [nothing safe is worth the drive (and i will follow you home)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10508457) by [Rosa_Mystica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosa_Mystica/pseuds/Rosa_Mystica)



> It was only a matter of time before I wrote Steve/Bucky.
> 
> Title from 'Treacherous' by Taylor Swift.

 

“Sam, what--”

Sam holds up a hand before Steve can even finish his sentence. “I already told you, and the answer hasn’t changed.”

Steve frowns. “You don’t even know what I was going to say."

Over the past few months, Sam has perfected his unimpressed eyebrow raise, mostly by practicing it on Steve. He unleashes it in full-force now.

“I just think--” Steve starts again, undeterred.

“Well, don’t,” Sam interrupts. “I told you, Rogers. You can’t force it. He’s gotta heal at his own pace. The best thing you can do for him is just to be there, okay?”

Glancing into the living room, Steve sees that Bucky hasn’t moved from his usual spot on Sam’s couch. His shoulders are a tense line beneath the worn fabric of the t-shirt he borrowed from Steve and long hair blocks Steve’s view of his face, but at least its clean and untangled. Small victories.

Outside, a car door slams. Bucky flinches.

“He’s suffering, Sam,” Steve says quietly.

A comforting hand grips Steve’s shoulder; he looks back to meet Sam’s steady gaze. “We all got baggage. You need to let him learn how to carry his.”

Deep down, Steve knows he’s right. HYDRA stripped Bucky of his agency. Stripped him of everything, really, and left him a hollow husk. It’s up to Bucky to decide how to fill himself back up and Steve won’t take that from him, that ability to choose.

But. It’s hard to watch, when Steve would do anything to take away his pain.

-

They never watch the news. It’s too hard to predict what story will be covered next, even with a constant ticker of devastating headlines running across the screen, but the chances are always high that it’ll be something that triggers Bucky, even on a good day.

The smallest things can trigger Bucky, on the bad days.

Steve prefers reading the paper, anyhow. Sam jokes that he’s single-handedly keeping the printing press in business, (“Get with the times, Cap. You’re in the digital age, now.”) but Steve likes the ritual of it, a habit that stretches back, anchors him to another time.

Sometimes he’ll read bits of articles out loud to Bucky, funny stories or odd news too strange to be fiction. (That’s an old habit, too. Steve tries not to think about the way Bucky’s spontaneous laughter has been replaced with wide-eyed silence, these days. He’ll go at Bucky’s pace, he _will_.)

They’re sitting on Sam’s couch, curled up on opposite ends. Steve has his face buried in the paper and Bucky’s foot has stretched across the middle cushion until it’s barely touching Steve’s thigh.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve says suddenly, lifting his head from the tiny print. Bucky looks back at him, expectant. Silent.

“Listen to this. There’s an animal shelter where kids can read to the cats. Makes the cats happy, and the kids improve their reading skills. That’s pretty cool, right?”

Slowly, Bucky blinks at him. “I like dogs,” he finally says, digging his toes further under Steve’s thigh.

Steve grins. “Course you do.” Cautiously, he reaches his hand down, wraps his fingers loosely around Bucky’s ankle. Bucky watches him, speculative, then relaxes back onto the couch, letting his eyes slip shut.

Biting his lip, Steve rubs absentminded circles over the skin of Bucky’s ankle with his thumb, the seeds of an idea beginning to bloom.

-

Steve goes to Natasha first, because the chances of an op being successful increase tenfold if Natasha is on board.

As he sketches out the basic plan, her eyebrows start climbing up her forehead before furrowing thoughtfully. Her face is incredibly expressive when she’s not hiding behind a mask and Steve guesses that he could count on one hand the number of people she lets her guard down around. He considers himself lucky to be one of them.

After he’s finished, he waits patiently while she taps a finger to her chin. “Sam’s never going to agree to this,” she says finally. “You know how long he spent staining his floors.”

Steve _knows_. Sam had convinced them that, “Working with your hands can be healing! Anyway it’s not like I charge you bums rent. The least you can do is help me with a little home improvement project.” Then he’d dragged them all to Home Depot and proceeded to spend an entire afternoon comparing different colored stains before finally selecting a deep cherry.

Bucky had disappeared into his room the moment they got home, drained from spending so much time being around people. Natasha had a sudden, urgent mission that happened to take exactly the same amount of time as staining the entire living room, and somehow Steve found himself on his hands and knees, sanding and staining the floor next to a grinning Sam.

“That’s why I came to you,” Steve says with an easy smile. “If anybody can convince Sam, it’s you.”

Natasha shoots him an unimpressed look that makes Sam’s patented ‘Steve Rogers What the Hell Are You Thinking’ eyebrows seem childishly obsolete. “You want me to use my special skill set on your friend to manipulate him into going along with your plan?”

“Um.” It sounds bad, when she puts it like that. But surely the end justifies the means. “Yes?”

Natasha grins dangerously. “I’m in.”

-

Sam can smell bullshit a mile away, so they decide a straightforward route is the best way to go.

After plying him with pizza and beer, of course.

They wait until there’s nothing but grease left in the box and Bucky has excused himself (or, well, until Bucky has silently retreated to his room, still overwhelmed most of the time by too much social interaction). Then Natasha meets Steve’s eye and he nods minutely.

“So, Sam,” she says, leaning back in her chair until it’s balancing on two legs.

Sam eyes her warily, immediately on guard. “Yes, Nat? Is there something I can help you with?”

Her lips curve into a devious smile. Steve doesn’t need enhanced hearing to catch the way Sam swallows with a gulp. “Funny you should ask,” she murmurs. One of her hands comes up to rest on the back of Sam’s chair and she gestures for Steve to leave from behind his back.

That was not the plan, but Steve isn’t going to argue. “I’m just going to… check on Bucky,” he mumbles awkwardly. Sam and Natasha don’t seem to notice as he pushes back his chair and beats a hasty retreat from the kitchen.

He hesitates in the hallway. Checking on Bucky was the first excuse that came to mind, but it’s probably not a bad idea. There’s no light shining beneath his door, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. He knocks softly and only has to wait a moment before Bucky grunts out a response that could be anything, but Steve optimistically interprets as ‘come in.’

Slowly, Steve opens the door, light from the hallway spilling into the dark room. It catches half of Bucky’s face, marring his features in deep shadows. Despite the intrusion, he doesn’t look up from where he’s perched on the foot of the bed, hunched over himself, fingers worrying the frayed edge of his t-shirt.

“All right, Buck?” Steve asks, leaning on the doorway. After a moment, Bucky shrugs his flesh shoulder, eyes still on the ground.

Steve pads into the room with heavy footsteps, letting Bucky know he’s coming, and settles onto the edge of the bed, leaving enough space between them so Bucky doesn’t feel crowded, overwhelmed.

Bucky, however, immediately scoots closer, tucking himself into Steve’s side. Steve automatically drapes an arm around him, holding him close.

“Wanna talk about it?”

He feels more than sees Bucky shake his head, still clinging to Steve like a lifeline. He’s not very talkative on the best of days, but at least he’s not shutting Steve out completely.

(On the worst days, Bucky flinches at the smallest touch, retreats so far into himself that Steve’s not sure he’ll ever come out. Steve reminds himself that even if Bucky isn’t talking, this is a step forward; this is Bucky accepting comfort, and that’s _something_.)

They sit like that for a long time, until Bucky’s breathing has gone so slow and steady that Steve would think he’s fallen asleep, if it weren’t for the way his fingers are still playing with the edge of Steve’s shirt. All the same, it catches Steve off guard when Bucky speaks a long moment later, his words so soft Steve can barely hear them.

“Sometimes I think I’m broken, Stevie.”

He doesn’t know what to say, what combination of words will set everything right - if they exist at all, even - so instead Steve wraps his arms around Bucky in a fierce hug, pressing a kiss to his temple. Bucky lets him, his face tucked into Steve’s chest, warmth breath puffing out shakily.

Eventually, Bucky drifts off like that, the grip of his fingers on Steve’s shirt relaxing as he slips into a deeper sleep. Steve eases him back onto the bed before tucking him under the blankets, allows himself a brief moment to stroke his hand through the soft strands of hair.

He’s just shutting Bucky’s door behind him when his phone vibrates in his pocket with a new text.

**he said yes :)**

Steve smiles down at the screen before carefully typing out a reply.

**Did you ask him about the dog or propose?**

Nat’s response buzzes through a moment later.

**;)**

-

Bucky is quiet at breakfast the next morning, staring into the depths of his cereal like it holds the secrets of the universe.

Or maybe it’s just easier to make eye contact with Coco Puffs than Steve. He tries not to take it personally.

Sam stumbles into the kitchen later than usual, looking a bit worse for the wear. Steve hears the front door open and close with a quiet click and nearly chokes on a bite of toast.

“Was that Nat?” he asks incredulously.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Sam says, reaching into the cupboard for a coffee mug. “You don’t get to judge, man. Not when you sent her after me in the first place.”

Steve stares at him, mouth gaping with half-chewed toast. “I just wanted her to ask you about getting a dog.”

Pouring himself a cup of coffee, Sam shoots him a quick grin. “C’mon, Rogers. You know Nat. She’s always got a mission she didn’t tell you about.”

With an audible sound, Steve swallows down his toast. He can feel the way his cheeks are flaming red. “It shouldn’t have been her _mission_ to-- that’s not, I mean--”

Sam looks entirely too amused. “Rogers. Cap. _Steve_. I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, but when two adults love each other very much--”

Sam doesn’t get a chance to finish, because suddenly a rusty-sounding laugh interrupts. Both Sam and Steve whip their heads around, twin looks of surprise on their faces as they take in the sight of Bucky giggling into his Coco Puffs.

“Steve,” Bucky finally gasps, still breathless from laughter. “You’re, like, a 100 years old. Has no one given you the sex talk yet?”

It’s the most words Bucky’s strung together in a row in days. That’s all it takes for Sam to lose it, clutching his stomach helplessly as Steve gapes.

“I’m only 96,” he tries to argue, but his words are drowned out by Sam’s deep belly laugh and Bucky’s creaking giggle.

It’s the best breakfast he’s had in years.

-

“You’re sure about this?” Bucky is already waiting in the car, but Steve hesitates in the doorway, shooting Sam an apprehensive look.

“Nat convinced me that watching you pick up dog shit would be hilarious - which is the reason I said yes, by the way. She also volunteered you to re-stain my floor if the damn thing scratches up the hardwood. Got my bases covered, Cap.”

Steve worries his lip between his teeth. “And you think… it’ll be good for Bucky, right? I’m not pushing him too much?”

Rolling his eyes, Sam physically starts pushing Steve out the door. “Animals are definitely good for the healing process, as long as he’s not scared of ‘em. Let him pick out the one he wants. Give him the choice.”

“Right,” Steve says. He takes a few steps before he pauses, turning back towards the house.

“Hey, Sam?” he calls.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks,” Steve says.

Sam rolls his eyes again, but his smile is fond. “Get outta here,” he replies, shutting the front door in Steve’s face. Steve smiles to himself before climbing into the driver’s seat, keys in hand.

-

Bucky is silent during the drive to the shelter, but his metal fingers drum incessantly against his thigh. Steve doesn’t think he’s even aware of it, but it was one of his tells from before. That he still does it now, and with his new arm - it feels like a victory. It’s another bit of Bucky that HYDRA couldn’t stamp out.

Steve reaches across the seat and threads his fingers through Bucky’s. Bucky doesn’t look away from the window, but he squeezes Steve’s hand back.

-

At the sound of erratic barking echoing loudly in the shelter, Bucky’s lips narrow into a thin line. Steve doesn’t drop his hand, just waits for Bucky to decide if he wants to take another step forward or two back.

After a long moment, Bucky nods to himself, then steps forward, tugging Steve along to the first kennel. He makes a slow circuit around the room, studying each dog impassively, face showing no flicker of emotion. Steve starts to worry that this wasn’t such a good idea after all when Bucky has made his way through half the kennels without so much as a word.

The excited barking hasn’t stopped, but at the very least it doesn’t seem to be bothering Bucky anymore. Maybe the day will be a draw.

There are only a handful of kennels left when Bucky stops in front of one for a longer pause than before. His head cocks slightly as he studies the dogs inside, two loudly yipping pitbulls and a smaller, sandy-colored ball of fur.

Bucky reaches out, fingers curling around the chain-link door. Both pitbulls leap up, barking wildly, but Bucky doesn’t even glance at them. He’s staring at the little mop of a dog, who sits sulkily in the corner, watching them with big, sad eyes from under a tangle of fur. Steve can see where half his coat has been shaved away, the pink lines of barely healed scars bisecting one of his back legs. His only back leg, he realizes a minute later.

Steve catches the eye of one of the shelter volunteers, gestures for her to come over.

“We’ll take this one,” he says quietly. She agrees to grab the paperwork and Bucky’s fingers tighten around his, eyes never straying from the pup.

-

The dog sits in Bucky’s lap the whole drive home, head sticking out the window and tongue lolling in the wind. Bucky has a funny look on his face that Steve might have called contentment, in another lifetime.

-

“I think you made a mistake,” Sam says when they walk through the door. “That’s a mop, not a dog.”

Bucky glares at him, hugging the dog to chest. It reaches up to lick at his chin.

The corner of Sam’s lip quirks like he’s trying to stifle a smile. “Nevermind. I stand corrected. Just tell me it’s housetrained.”

“He’s housetrained,” Steve says obediently. “I mean, we think so anyway.”

Sam’s eyebrow dances up. “You know, I’ve been thinking that cherry is too dark for the living room. A nice cedar would compliment the woodwork.”

Steve shoots him a pained look. “The deal was I’d re-stain your floors if his nails scratched it up. That was the deal, Sam.”

“Yeah,” Sam continues, as if Steve hadn’t spoken at all. “Cedar’s going to look great in here.”

“I regret this already,” Steve almost says, but the words die in his throat when he glances back at Bucky.

He’s dropped to his knees to gently set the dog on its feet. The pup stands proudly on his three legs for a minute, before jumping half into Bucky’s lap to lick his face, covering his cheeks in slobber. Bucky’s smile is small but genuine as he strokes the dog’s furry head.

Steve’s heart lurches in his chest. He’ll stain Sam’s entire house if that’s what it takes to keep that look on Bucky’s face.

-

Quickly, Steve learns three things.

The first is that the dog is absolutely crazy about Bucky. He’ll follow Bucky around the house, a funny little hop to his gait the only indication he’s missing a leg. Sam resolutely puts his foot down at allowing the dog on the couch (“I like my couch, Steve. I’m not sitting on cushions that smell like dog.”), so instead he curls up loyally at Bucky’s feet, big brown eyes filled with canine adoration and tail thumping happily as Bucky leans down to pet him.

The second is that Bucky is absolutely crazy about the dog. Even on the bad days, where Steve has to coax Bucky into eating and is met with a wall of silence, Bucky never fails to pour a cupful of kibble into the dog’s bowl. The dull look in his eyes eventually begins to fade, replaced with the hint of a sparkle Steve hasn’t seen since before the war.

The third thing Steve learns is that Bucky’s dog is an absolute menace.

-

Sam is the first victim. Or, rather, his rug is.

Bucky faithfully lets the dog out whenever it waits by the door and Steve would be lying if he said he didn’t breathe a sigh of relief that he is, apparently, housetrained. (Sam’s taken to leaving swabs with different stain colors around the house with a lack of subtly Tony Stark would be impressed with, talking off anyone’s ear who’ll listen about complementary wood tones.)

It’s almost funny that the dog ends up shitting on the rug, leaving Sam’s pristine hardwood untouched.

When he discovers it, Sam opens and closes his mouth like a drowning fish for a full minute before he finally says, “Walk. Now. I can’t look him in the face, I’m so mad.”

The dog’s tail starts wagging enthusiastically at the word walk and Bucky grabs his leash, hightailing it out the door. Steve barely spares a minute to worry about Bucky being out on his own - because he’s not, really, with his loyal mutt by his side - and sets to calling Nat for damage control.

She spends the better part of twenty minutes laughing her head off as Sam’s face turns an alarming variety of purple shades. Steve’s seen her handle an alien invasion with more poise, and tells her so, which is not one of the top ten smartest things Steve Rogers has ever done.

“You call me for back up in _handling dog shit_ , and I’m the one lacking poise?”

“No, I called you to _handle Sam_ , who might actually be having a heart attack,” Steve replies, gesturing to eggplant hue Sam’s currently sporting.

Nat rolls her eyes. “The Winter Soldier literally ripped off his wings and he survived just fine. He can handle some dog shit.”

“That was different,” Sam argues. “That dog came into my house, took a shit on my rug. This is _personal_.”

“How is it that you two managed to take down SHIELD and track down HYDRA’s most prolific assassin, yet can’t manage to clean up a pile of shit?”

Steve shoots her a beseeching look. “You know we couldn’t do either of those things without you. Please, Nat. We need you.”

She grins. “Yeah, all right. I just wanted to hear you beg.”

Despite giving what Steve thinks is a very strong argument for a paper-scissors-rock tournament to determine who should have to actually clean up the mess, Nat and Sam vote two to one that it should be Steve. Nat pours Sam a stiff drink while Steve attacks the rug with a roll of paper towels and Febreeze, only to have Sam declare that it’s “not good enough.”

After a passionate disagreement that Nat threatens to end with her boot in someone’s ass, they end up throwing the rug out, and Steve spends half the day at Ikea with Sam, picking out a new one that matches the curtains.

It’s late by the time they get back, early evening sunlight streaming in through the windows and painting everything in gold. Steve automatically goes to check on Bucky, who’s left the door of his room cracked open. He’s about to announce his presence with a knock when the quiet murmur of Bucky’s voice catches his attention.

“I’m not mad at you. You shouldn’t have done it, though. Sam was really upset. I don’t want him to kick you out, okay?”

There’s the rhythmic thumping of a wagging tail and Bucky’s next words are too muffled for Steve to make out. He knocks a little guiltily before nudging the door open wider.

“Hey, Buck. Sorry, we were out getting a new rug. Everything okay?”

Bucky looks up from where he’s sitting on the floor, his dog curled up in his lap. He offers Steve a hesitant smile. “Fine.” The smile slips a bit. “He won’t do it again. I promise.”

Waving a hand dismissively, Steve says, “Don’t worry about it. I think Sam just wanted an excuse to buy a new rug.

“Okay,” Bucky says unconvincingly.

“Listen, Bucky. I will buy Sam a hundred new rugs if I need to, okay?”

“Okay,” he repeats. Steve sees a slight quirk of lips before Bucky drops his head, hiding his face behind his hair.

Steve will buy Sam a thousand rugs, if that’s what it takes. It’s a small price to pay for Bucky’s happiness.

-

The dog has no sense of self-preservation, because it targets Nat next.

In the weeks after the Rug Incident, more and more of her things start appearing around the apartment. Her jacket is nestled amongst theirs in the front hall and Sam’s collection of DVDs grows to include such classics as _Pretty in Pink_ and _Pride and Prejudice_.

One day a fourth toothbrush appears in the bathroom, but Steve’s unfairly the only one who blushes about it. The problem with being friends with a soldier and a spy is that they notice right away, of course.

Sam won’t stop cracking jokes about ‘unleashing the falcon’ whenever Steve’s in earshot, which makes Nat groan and Steve drop whatever he’s holding, to Sam’s endless amusement. Bucky alternates between suspicious confusion and hesitant laughter, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed.

It’s like a punch to the gut, every time.

The laughter evaporates pretty quickly the day Nat leaves her boots in the hallway. Steve is lounging on the couch, newspaper in hand, while Bucky sits opposite him, hand dangling down to play with the dog’s ears when Nat marches into the living room, a wary looking Sam trailing after her.

Silently, she holds out her left boot. Well, Steve amends. What’s _left_ of it.

“What,” she says in a deceptively calm voice, “the fuck is this?”

Bucky’s hand stills. He looks at Steve with wide eyes.

“Um,” Steve tries. “A boot?”

Natasha looks murderous. “That dog is going to make an ugly coat, but I’m going to wear it with pride.”

Bucky’s face goes terribly blank as he rises from the couch in one fluid motion. The apartment is suddenly, deathly quiet. Steve slips his hand into his pocket to fish out his phone. He’s got Stark on speed-dial and he thinks the Avengers can assemble pretty quickly to subdue the Winter Soldier before he accumulates a body count.

Never one to back down from a fight, Natasha squares her shoulders, meeting Bucky’s thousand mile stare with an icy gaze. Steve’s finger is hovering over the call button when Bucky suddenly snaps, “Don’t touch my dog, Cruella DeVille,” before scooping him up and disappearing down the hallway into his room.

Nat stares after him in shock. “Did he just call me Cruella? Where did he even learn that reference?”

Sam mostly looks thoughtful. “This explains the Netflix queue. I was starting to wonder.”

-

Steve had hoped that being Bucky’s favorite human might save him from the wrath of Bucky’s dog, but he has no such luck.

In fact, the dog seems to like antagonizing Steve most of all. It starts when Steve discovers his soggy sketchbook half-hidden beneath the couch, one corner chewed completely off. Steve’s ratty old sneaker is lying nearby, completely untouched, and Steve knows the dog chose something sentimental on _purpose_.

The next attack happens before dawn. Steve rolls out of bed, half-asleep but unable to kick the habit of an early morning run, and steps directly into a pile of still-warm dog vomit.

The dog spends every night in Bucky’s bed, so Steve’s not sure why it would wander into his room just to throw-up, other than to specifically and purposefully make Steve’s life awful.

It’s only when he turns on a lamp to clean up the mess, the pre-dawn light to dim to see much of anything, that Steve notices the tell-tale wrapper sticking out.

The damn dog ate the sub sandwich he had been saving for lunch.

-

“We need to do something about that dog.”

“For the record, Nat, skinning it and making a coat is off the table.”

“Ha, ha. You’re hilarious, Sam. Remind me who almost had a breakdown over some dogshit on their rug?”

“The rug has been replaced. All future damaged rugs will be replaced. I’m more concerned about the chewing. Can we talk about the chewing?”

“Why did his rug get replaced but my boots didn’t? Can we talk about that?”

“That’s not really--”

“Cap. Nat. Focus. What if we made it an outside dog?”

“Then Bucky’s going to become an outside person.”

“Well. The weather’s not so bad, in the summer - oh, don’t look at me like that, Steve, I’m _joking_.”

“Let the record show that Nat’s jokes are not funny.”

“You know I could actually kill you with one hand tied behind my back.”

“Kinky. Hey, Cap, you all right? You look a bit flushed.”

“Steve looks nice with a little pink in his cheeks.”

“I hate you both. Are we going to talk about the dog or not?”

“Look, Cap, why don’t you talk to Bucky? He’s the only one that damn thing listens to, anyway. Maybe he’s got an idea.”

“Yeah, okay. I can do that.”

-

Steve finds Bucky in bed, laptop balanced on his lap and dog loyally stretched out on its belly by his side.

“What’re you watching, Buck?”

Bucky’s hand never slows from where he’s rubbing his fingers through the dog’s fur, but the movement doesn’t look nervous or anxious. The steady motion seems to be soothing to both of them and the dog lets out a loud sigh of contentment.

“A movie,” Bucky answers distractedly after a moment, eyes not straying from the computer screen.

“Right. Well, don’t let me interrupt. Enjoy your movie, pal.”

Bucky finally looks up, head cocked like he’s a bit surprised to find Steve still standing there. “You could come watch. If you want,” he offers quietly.

Between Bucky and the dog, there isn’t much room left on the bed, but that’s not an offer Steve is going to turn down. He folds himself into Bucky’s side, squeezing onto the mattress. There was a time he’d fit with no problem, where he could tuck his head beneath Bucky’s chin and Bucky’s arm would slip around him, anchoring him down.

Now, though, its Steve’s arm that slides over Bucky’s broad shoulders, cheek resting against Bucky’s as he angles his head to see the screen. Bucky’s watching one of the Disney movies Steve meant to catch up on, but never found the time.

“Never been to Hawaii,” Steve comments. “Maybe we should go sometime.”

“Shh,” Bucky shushes him, doesn’t even look panicked that he’s told someone what to do. Steve grins, letting himself relax into Bucky’s side to enjoy the movie.

He doesn’t expect to cry, over a fuzzy little alien, of all things, hot tears pricking at his eyes that he quickly wipes away. By the time the credits roll, he’s mostly recovered, but then Bucky’s quiet words punctuate the silence, ringing out like a gunshot.

“He’s not a bad dog, Steve. He’s missing a few parts, and he’s done some bad things, but he’s not a bad dog.”

“I know, Buck. I know.”

Bucky turns to hide his face in Steve’s neck and a furry head pushes into Steve’s hand, demanding to be petted. Steve scratches the dog’s ear, runs his other hand up and down Bucky’s shoulder.

“Don’t get rid of him, Stevie. He’s good, I promise. He can be good.”

Steve swallows thickly and almost misses Bucky’s next words, no louder than an exhale. “I can be good.”

Heart in his throat, Steve closes the laptop and slides it onto the floor before taking Bucky’s face in both hands. He presses his forehead against Bucky’s, breathing out shakily. “I know, Bucky. You’re so good. I’m so proud of you.”

“You shouldn’t be. You don’t know… I did so many things. Terrible things.”

“That wasn’t you, Bucky,” Steve says fiercely. “They brainwashed you, they wiped your mind, you didn’t have a _choice_.”

Bucky’s fingers grip his shirt tightly. “There’s blood on my hands. I can remember…” he cuts himself off. The dog whines, trying to crawl into Bucky’s lap in the space between them.

“It wasn’t you,” Steve repeats desperately. “They used you, made you a tool. A weapon.”

Metal fingers twist in Steve’s shirt. “Maybe that’s all I am,” Bucky whispers.

Steve rubs his thumb across the Bucky’s cheek, pulling back far enough to meet his hooded gaze. “You really think that?”

Bucky looks back at him, face crumpled in misery. “That’s all I was.”

“No, Buck,” Steve shakes his head. “That’s not true at all. You were… god. You were the most important thing in my life, you know that? You still are.”

Sniffling, Bucky wipes at his face. “You don’t get it, Steve. I’m not the same person I was before. I’m never going to be that person. You can’t-- the Bucky you loved fell from that train.”

Steve tucks a loose strand of hair behind Bucky’s ear with a shaking hand. “No. The Bucky I loved fell from the train, and the Bucky I still love pulled me from the Potomac. It’s you. It’ll always be you.”

“I…” Bucky starts, hesitating. “After the - when I saw you, on the bridge. They wiped me, after, so its… everything’s jumbled, but I remember…"

Biting his lip to stop himself from interrupting, Steve waits for the words to come to him, afraid that any minute the well will dry up and Bucky will fall back into his customary silence.

“I remember seeing you, and I… I _knew_ you. I never… I didn’t know myself, but I knew _you_.”

“Bucky,” Steve breathes.

He swallows. “He never told you… _I_ never told you, but… god, Steve. I was so in love with you I ached with it. I think that’s why. Well, they could never wipe that completely, I guess.”

There’s a roaring in his ears that Steve distantly registers. “You… what?”

Bucky laughs, but its a hollow, empty sound. “Guess the Bucky you loved wasn’t even the Bucky you thought you knew.”

This is not a conversation Steve wants to have with a slobbering dog in the bed, but he since he suspects that dog is the reason it’s happening in the first place, he can’t really complain. “But, you- you never said…”

The look Bucky gives him would fluster even Nat. “What the hell did ya want me to say? Oh, hey, I got my draft papers, gonna be shipping out, probably won’t make it home, and by the way, I think I’m in love with you?”

Steve sits back. “You told me you enlisted.”

“And you signed up for a dangerous experiment that could have killed you the moment I turned my back!”

They stare at each other for a long moment, illuminated by nothing more than the waning moonlight that catches the hard edges with a white glow and casts deep, dark shadows everywhere else.

“You…” Steve says, but can’t think of a single word to follow. Instead, he stupidly leans forward, hand still cupping Bucky’s cheek, and presses his mouth to Bucky’s. For a single, terrifying moment, Bucky freezes completely. Then cold metal fingers are tickling the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck and Bucky’s warm lips are moving against his.

A low growl interrupts and Steve pulls away in alarm. The dog is glowering at him, teeth bared, and Bucky _laughs_.

“He thought you were trying to eat me.”

Steve is dumbfounded. “God, I’m not _that_ bad of a kisser.”

Bucky raises a brow. “That’s not what Nat says.”

He barely has time to feel offended before Bucky is laughing again, rusty, out of practice giggles that tug at Steve’s heartstrings when he realizes that Bucky has made an actual joke.

“Guess I have to prove you wrong. Think you can talk your dog out of attacking me?”

Bucky grins, teeth gleaming in the wash of moonlight. “He’s a really good dog. I promise.”

They have a lot more to talk about, an entire train of baggage to work through, but. For the first time in a long time, Steve thinks things are going to be okay. More than okay, even.

He loves Bucky, and Bucky loves him. It’s the same as its always been, and different like it never was. They have each other, though. Everything else is just details.

-

Nat moves in and Steve and Bucky move out, to a place with a large backyard surrounded by a picket fence they stain a rich cedar.

The dog doesn’t stop chewing things, but Sam helps Steve puzzle through the Ikea instructions and build a wall of shelves to keep all the important things up high, out of reach from pesky dog teeth.

Not that it matters. Steve keeps the most important thing close to his heart. He sleeps next to Bucky every night in a bed that smells faintly of dog, but finds that he doesn’t really mind.

Some things are worth the sacrifice. And Steve? Well. He’d do anything to make Bucky happy.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the [link](http://lovemeow.com/2014/02/children-read-to-shelter-cats/) to the actual article about kids reading to cats referenced.
> 
> Also, in case it was unclear, the movie Steve and Bucky watch is Lilo and Stitch.


End file.
